


Dragon Age Shorts, Flash, and Drabbles

by MimiMerlot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Eventual Smut, Flash Fic, Fluff, One Shot, Rating May Change, Romance, Short, Short One Shot, Shorts, Vignette, due to future content, r/cullenmancers, r/solasmancers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiMerlot/pseuds/MimiMerlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is to be my collection of Dragon Age shorts, flash fiction, and drabbles.  I'm just starting it, so please bear with me.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

**Lavellan/Solas**

[2]   **[Dignity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229/chapters/13109878)** \- Mild NSFW Flash

[5]  **[Wycome](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229/chapters/13197964) ** \- Vignette

**Trevelyan/Cullen**

[3]   **[Did I Wake You?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229/chapters/13111273)**  - Drabble

[4]   **[I Promise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229/chapters/13111894) ** \- Drabble; Fluff

**Trevelyan/Blackwall**

[6]  [Advice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691229/chapters/18340033) - Short; Correspondence; Thoughtful


	2. Dignity

His head jerked upward at the sound of the door, dust spinning in the light of the torch.  Ellana came through the doorway with a bucket, mop and broom.  The mop handle, propped in the crook of her arm, hit the doorframe.  Water sloshed over the sides of the bucket and splashed down her leathers.

“Creators!” she muttered.  She shifted her weight and set the bucket on the floor.  She leaned both mop and broom against one of the cob web covered bookcases in the hidden library within the belly of Skyhold.  Ellana shut the door with a foot and looked up to see Solas looking at her in surprise.  “Solas,” she said.  “Ir abelas.   I did not expect anyone here.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, ma vhenan.”  He placed the book he held in his hands down upon the desk and smiled at her.  “As Inquisitor, you have servants to do this, surely.”

Ellana smiled back and stepped further into the disused room.  “I. . . I wanted to discover this room myself.”  She shrugged.  “It’s a wonder these books even survived.”  She ran a finger along a spine of a book.  Centuries of grime came off onto her fingertip.  She looked down at it.

Of course she would make note of that.  She often was quick to notice oddities and inconsistencies.  “It is the magic in this place, I think.”

She nodded and accepted his explanation without a word.  His stomach lurched.  It was getting harder to spin the lies and half-truths to her.  It was not right, what he was doing to her.  What he would do to her.  But she was beautiful.  Graceful, and wiser than any he expected to find in this world.  He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand.  He ran his thumb over the soft curves of her lips.  She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded, enjoying the caress.  There were times when he thought she might suspect, and then others, like now, when he knew that was foolish.  She trusted him far too much for that. 

Ellana brought her hands to his chest and slowly dragged them up and around his neck.  The corner of his mouth quirked upward.  He let go of her chin, trailing his finger along her jawline.  She pressed herself against him and he bent his head to graze his lips across her brow.  Her fingers slid along the outside of his ears while her breath tickled his neck.  He shivered when she raised herself onto her toes and kissed his neck where it met his collarbone.  He clenched his jaw, but she kissed the spot again.  His hands slid into her hair and he pressed his lips against hers; her mouth opening eagerly.  He stepped forward and forced her backward with a slight push of his body.  Her breathing became ragged, and she moaned when he pressed her against a bookcase.  She opened her eyes and met his with a gaze that sent his heart racing.

“Ma sa’lath,” he whispered into her neck.

She bent her head to one side with a small smile.  He ran his lips along the length of her slender neck. 

Her back arched at his touch.  “Ma vhenan’ara.”  Her voice caught mid-sentence.

She shifted her weight and her arm caught the side of the broom handle.  It clattered against the mop handle which then smacked Solas directly on the forehead.

“Fenedhis!” he hissed.  He pulled back and clutched his skull.

Ellana laughed.  “Oh!  Oh, ir abelas!”  She covered her mouth when he glared at her.  “Really.  I am.  Are you alright?”

“I am well, thank you.”  Solas dropped his arms and tried to gather his dignity.  He watched as she struggled to hide her grin.  She would be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r/solasmancer prompt - Lavellan and Solas are in the library, but can't keep their hands off each other, passionate kissing and making out ensues.


	3. Did I Wake You?

Cullen crossed the hall of the chantry with his nose buried in a report.  He pushed the door of the war room open and closed it behind him.  He tossed the report onto the table and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It never ends,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

Cullen jumped.  “Maker!”  He looked over to where Evelyn was half slumped over the table.  Her face was lined from where she had lain on a stack of papers.  “Did- Did I wake you?”

Evelyn rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, hair askew.

He laughed.  “Go, sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r/cullenmancers prompt - Did I wake you?


	4. I Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set the night before The Arbor Wilds assault.

Evelyn traced her finger along a scar on Cullen’s chest.  He pulled her close and she snuggled into his side.  She rested her chin on his shoulder.  He closed his eyes, content to keep her close and enjoy the moment.  He blocked the sounds of the restless army from his mind.  He smiled when she kissed his chin.

“Promise me you won’t take any chances tomorrow,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  A line of worry furrowed her brow.

“I would say the same to you.”

She swallowed.  “I can’t.”

He kissed her palm.  “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r/cullenmancers prompt - I Promise


	5. Wycome

Ellana stared at Josephine.  The woman’s mouth was moving, but she could not understand the words. Her legs trembled.  She swallowed down rising bile.  Ellana grabbed onto the edge of Josephine’s desk and looked away.  Josephine stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.  Her perfume clogged Ellana’s nostrils.  She shook off the ambassador’s hand and spun on her heel. 

Ellana bolted across the hall and went straight for the door that led to her quarters.  She heard Varric call her, but she ignored him.  Her stomach somersaulted and her head swam.  Her legs finally gave way on the landing of the tower stairs.  She knelt and pressed her forehead against the cool stone.  She gasped.

Dead.

Dead.

They were all dead.

The sound of her first sob reverberated through the tower.  It was a short blast of air that came from her gut and cut up her throat.  The second came out as a staccatoed keen.  She choked on the third.  She coughed and spat, and coughed some more. 

When the spasms ceased, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes.  The tears came.  They trickled down the slight crows’ feet and pooled in her ears.

Lavellan.

Gone.  All gone.

Her breath came out in a tremble.  Her diaphragm shook.  She closed her hands into fists and ignored the pain of her nails biting into her palms.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” came a voice.

A familiar hand brushed her brow.  She opened her eyes and looked up to see Solas kneeling by her.  His brow was furrowed in concern.  She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his hand.

“Emma ir abelas.  Ir tel’enasalin,” she whispered in a ragged voice.

Solas held his breath and closed his eyes for a brief moment before responding.  “Come.” 

He slipped a hand beneath her shoulders and helped her to her feet.  They climbed the rest of the stairs with his hand firmly around her waist.  He guided her toward her bed, where she gratefully collapsed.  He lay next to her and began stroking her hair when she buried her face into his chest.  He closed his eyes.  He understood her sense of failure all too well.  He knew there was nothing he could do to take it away.  Her decisions had destroyed her people.  He pressed his lips against her forehead and kept them there as she wept. 

All he could do was share her grief.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r/solasmancers prompt - Lavellan is having a bad day, leaving her upset and crying, Solas hears her and comforts and hugs her.


	6. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> r/fanfiction Head-to-Head Prompt Challenge. Prompt: Inquistor in quiet reflection.

> _Dear Father,_
> 
> _How are things in Ostwick?  Still tense?  Is there anything the Inquisition can do to help relieve tensions, or would that only make matters worse?_
> 
> _How are you?  Here at Skyhold we are well.  The Templar tower is complete and most of the repair work on the keep has been finished.  The Inquisition is growing in both people and reputation.  We are larger than I had imagined we would ever be, particularly since we started as a rag tag group of heretics in Haven.  I am proud of what we have achieved.  The sight of our banners in the wind still makes my heart beat faster.  I now understand how you must feel when riding into the Trevelyan country estate; the thrill you must feel at the sight of our coat of arms atop the parapets.  It is a good feeling to know that something thrives under your own direction.  While I still squirm under the title of Herald, I no longer fear the title of Inquisitor._
> 
> _My last letter was fraught with uncertainty and grief, I know.   Unfortunately, this letter concerns the same person.  I need your advice and guidance regarding how to continue with Warden Blackwall – or Thom Rainier as we now know him to be._

Evelyn set down the quill, stared at the page, and sighed.

Blackwall.

Maker damn him.  If only he had told her.  If he had been upfront with his identity, none of this would have happened.  She would not be in this position.  They could have done something about it sooner and it would never have been so public.  Josephine and Leliana made a great team when it came to that sort of thing.

She had made judgement upon him and had ordered him to atone for his mistakes.  He swore himself to the Inquisition and had opened himself up to her in front of everyone in her court.  That had surprised her.  It had surprised her for multiple reasons, but most of all she had not been sure he still loved her after he had berated her and called her names for freeing him.

“Your opinion will no longer be considered,” she had snapped, tired of his self-pity. “You’ve lost that privilege.  I decide what becomes of you now.”  She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth, but she had been angry.  Livid, even.  She forced herself to keep a casual pose on the throne, but in reality her hands shook.  The fact that he had hidden this from her rankled.  It hurt.  Her stomach still felt like a tightly wound ball and she repeatedly found herself swallowing rising bile.

Rainier had blanched at her reproach. His brows furrowed and his voice softened.  “And what becomes of me?”

Her decision regarding his fate was not a popular one.  She was aware of the collective gasp that followed her pronouncement.  She knew what people were whispering about her, but the fact of the matter was he had already given himself to the Inquisition.  He was an integral part of the organization whether it be by his help in the field, training of the recruits or his work in the refugee camp. 

The Inquisition needed him.

Andraste’s Tits, she needed him.

He had made their relationship political when he stepped up to the dais and asked, “You’d accept that?  And. . . And what I used to be?  I lied about who I was, but I never lied about what I felt.”

Her breath quickened at those words and she fought to keep herself composed; impassive.  The hall was not the place for this, she wanted to say, but she did not trust herself to speak. 

“No matter what I was, or what becomes of me,” he continued, “right now, I’m just a man with his heart laid bare.  I leave it in your hands.”

 _Of course you do!_ she had wanted to scream.  He always did.  Every step in their relationship had been initiated by her.  Her will almost collapsed then.  The man was broken.  For so long he had lived with a mantle of guilt and shame on his shoulders that he had given up all hope for happiness.  Time and time again he had retreated from her.  And yet she always reached out.

 _Is he worth it, Evelyn?_   _Do you want to help put him back together?_

She had stared at him.  He looked up at her with veiled hope, like a starving mongrel hoping for scraps.   Evelyn had seen that look on his face so many times.  The Storm Coast, her quarters, the tavern. . . Her heart beat loudly in her ears and her stomach somersaulted.  She swallowed.  Maker, she loved him.  Whether it was good for her or not, she did. 

She was not perfect.  Maker she knew that.  She was just as much a murderer and traitor as the man who stood in chains before her.  She had allowed Celene to die in the ballroom of the Winter Palace.  She had been complicit in regicide through inaction.  She could have stopped it, but no, she put Gaspard on the throne of Orlais.  She regretted that decision.  Orlais would need time to recover from the civil war, but she did not believe Gaspard would allow the empire the time it needed before he had his soldiers marching once again.  To where, she did not know, though Leliana’s reports of the Qunari ever since they had rejected their alliance were troubling.  If only she had taken more care in her search for evidence at the Winter Palace.  If only she had inspected more rooms. If only she had not been so caught up with social etiquette and that damned bell. . .

Evelyn shook herself of those thoughts.  They would not get her anywhere.  They made a pair, though, and that was the point.  Who was she to judge him when she had done something similar?  She was not without sin.  No one in the Inquisition was.  How many people had Cassandra interrogated and executed by letting her own biases, assumptions and impatience get in the way?  How many people had Leliana ordered to be killed?  In Kirkwall, how many mages had Cullen hurt or forced to become tranquil?  Cole had killed people without thought.  Vivienne was a conspiring serpent who would do anything to further her own power.  Sera, well, she didn’t put much past that one.  Nor Bull; the man would happily declare how much he enjoyed dismembering people to anyone who would listen.  Every single one of them was guilty of something.  Some carried more fault than others, but it all boiled down to the same thing: none of them were innocent.

She got up from her chair, pulled the fur-lined robe tighter about her, and padded over to the great fireplace.

The court of the Inquisition had waited for her response to Blackwall’s public pleas in an unusual hush.  She did not have to look out into the sea of noble faces to know they all had their eyes fixed on her.  Every movement, every breath, and every word would be analyzed and gossiped about.  By the Fade, even the things she did not do nor say would be dissected.  A part of her hated Rainier for putting her in that position.  She had needed more time to process what she felt.  She loved him.  She missed him, and she wanted him to be back in her arms, but she also found his dishonesty toward her personally hard to forgive. 

“I don’t know where we’ll end up, but I’m willing to give us a chance,” she had finally said, not wanting to fully commit to him in front of an audience.

He dropped his gaze as fear washed over his face.  “I don’t know how to be with you as Thom Rainier,” he whispered.

That whisper broke down her misgivings and before she know what she was doing she had risen from the throne and was walking toward him.  He looked up at her and she swallowed, wishing she had stayed put.

 _Is he worth it?_ she had asked herself again before responding.  _There will be talk._

And there was talk – already; not even a couple turns of the glass later.  Evelyn reached for the bottle of Antivan wine from the mantel and poured herself a glass, not bothering to water it.  She drank deeply and frowned at the rim of the pewter cup.  Leliana had surreptitiously dropped hints as she gave her report on the Inquisition’s progress in Emprise du Lion.  The Inquisitor ruled with her loins was the gist of it.  Wonderful.  She could not wait for the letter she would receive from her mother about that one.  It had been bad enough that Blackwall had been a Grey Warden.  Murderers, thieves, and miscreants, the lot of them, her mother had written in her scathing letter when rumours of the Inquisitor taking a lover began to circulate.  But at least he had some modicum of respect with the rank and medals he held.  Now?  Not only a murderer, but a traitor, liar, and most heinous of all, a commoner without rank or title.  Evelyn snorted.  At least mother knew what her priorities were. 

She finished the wine in her glass and poured herself another.

That moment where she stood in front of him stretched out into what felt like an eternity.  She had struggled to find the words necessary.

“Start with honesty,” she had told him.  She cringed at that, but the rebuke was necessary, for both her own piece of mind and for the Inquisition.  She was not merely Evelyn Trevelyan when standing on the dais.  She was Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste.

He had smiled, at least; a small upward quirk of his mouth. “It will be a nice change.”

And then. . .  Oh Maker, she had made a fool of herself.  Any sort of respectability or nobility she had manage to scrape up for this judgement was thrown out of the window within a brief moment of weakness.  She’d kissed him at the head of the hall, in plain view of everyone.  She needed to.  For herself, Evelyn.  She needed to see if it was still right; if she felt what she believed she felt.  She did feel it, no matter how filthy he was from his time in the dungeon.  She did not realize how much she had missed the tickle of his beard against her cheek.  He still had that scent of wood smoke about him.  Her knees had gone weak and she had to wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself steady.  The way he quivered against her told her all she needed to know: he needed it just as much as she did.

But the Inquisition did not need that display of intimacy; there would be scandal.  Josephine would have a lot of work to do in smoothing the whole incident over.  Favours would have to be made and traded.  The ambassador would have a few private words for her, she knew.

Evelyn took the wine to her desk and sat back down.  She dipped the quill into the jar of ink and pursed her lips.

> _He was responsible for the Callier Massacre.  He ran.  Eventually he was recruited by the Grey Warden Blackwall, but before he could officially join the Wardens, a darkspawn ambush killed the real Blackwall.  Terrified that the Wardens would think him responsible for the death of their constable, Rainier assumed Blackwall’s name and identity.  In the following years he devoted himself to the Grey Warden ideals of helping and protecting people.  He has tried to atone for his sins and has done what Andraste has asked us all to do: repent._ _He has given himself to the Maker’s work, and for that I cannot deny him his chance._
> 
> _Am I right in giving him another chance?  Am I right in allowing him back into my heart?  Am I right in pursuing this relationship?  I fear I am making a mistake.  My heart says one thing, and my head another.  I am full of doubt._
> 
> _I am willing to see how things go, day by day, but I am scared of what this will do to the reputation of the Inquisition.  I will never be able to love without scandal, will I?  My life is no longer my own.  How do you manage this, father?  Does this ever become easy, or will I always feel like I’m floundering in a sea of paranoia?  I think and rethink every action, every word.  I’m tired of The Game.  I do not wish to play any longer._
> 
> _Should I stop?  Should I refuse to play or should I make my own rules?  More and more I find myself leaning toward the latter.  This is the Inquisition.  We are here to stop Corypheus from destroying the world.  Like the Grey Wardens we have our own single objective.  I was never very good at dancing, and I still do not care for it.  This Orlesian Game leaves a sour taste in my mouth._
> 
> _I wish you were here.  I need your strength._
> 
> _Give my love to Edward and Amelie.  And mother, of course._
> 
> _Love your daughter,_
> 
> _Evelyn_

 


End file.
